


A Pair of Fighters

by Jato



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Author is a dog nerd, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Frank Castle needs more happiness in his life, Gen, Max is a sweetheart, dog POV, mentions of animal abuse, mentions of dog fighting, you read that right
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-05-29 00:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6350824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jato/pseuds/Jato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His new Master is different. He can't pinpoint what it is. He smells like metal and gunpowder like his old Masters. His voice is deep and gruff, his steps are strong and even. But the man calls him Max, gives him head scritches and pats, doesn't lace his voice with anger or frustration. And he's a fighter. Like him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt here: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/7552.html?thread=14100352#cmt14100352
> 
> Frank's dog (can we call him Max?) is healthy and happy and Frank pets him and takes him for lots of walks.

There’s pain.

He’s used to pain but not like this. His pain is stabbing fangs, barks, snarls, angry, teeth, flesh, angry, yells, praise, shouts, bites, more angry, keep biting, go for the throat, hang on, shake-

This is just loud.

Just loud and screams and shots and more shots and he whimpers, strains at the end of the chain and jerks to get away from it all. His nose floods with the smell of blood, too much and another whine escapes his throat as he tugs on his collar again. His Masters are screaming and he can smell their blood in the air, and, and the gunshots. He knows gunshots. Gunshots are for the losers, for the ones who make it out of the ring beaten and bloody and his Masters were angry and he lost so, so-

The loud stops.

The world doesn't come flooding back immediately. There’s still a ringing in his ears, his muscles continue trembling. He tries to whine again but his throat is so sore, more than his tattered ear or the bite on his skull or his mangled paw. There’s nothing but the blood of his Masters in the air, gunpowder and their fear scent, and _his_ fear scent.

He doesn’t want to stay here. So he strains against the chain once more, throws his weight into the it and pulls. Pulls until his throat hurts more and keeps going. Keeps pulling until tension breaks and he runs, heart pounding and panting wildly. When he hears the soft thud of footsteps he runs straight towards them. He doesn’t check which Master it is. Doesn't care. Just barks and whines and whimpers and wags his tail and runs past the other Masters, _dead_ his nose tells him, and huddles at the man’s feet. When a hand reaches down to gingerly pet his head he shoves his nose into the open palm and presses his head against the man’s knee.

 

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t recognise this Master. There’s something different about him. He can’t pinpoint what it is; his new Master smells like gunpowder, stale sweat, metal, oil and blood. But he also smells like dog treats and doesn’t have those other smells (cigarettes, alcohol, that weird powder stuff that makes his nose itch). Doesn't have that funny way of talking the other masters are known for. The man walks with strong, even confident footsteps. He walks like a fighter. His old Masters were fighters, but he’s different somehow.

The man doesn’t take him back to his kennel for one thing. He takes him, _carries_ him upstairs, to a place inside. Inside means other dogs, so he searches the room, looks around for the other dog, raises his muzzle and sniffs the air.

Pauses.

No dogs.

The room doesn’t smell like other canines, doesn’t sound like barks. There’s no blood coating the walls, no haphazard ring made from wooden pallets and overturned plastic tables. He catches the scent of rat in the walls and bird in the roof but no canines.

He doesn’t understand.

 

* * *

 

Resting his head on his paws, he watches the man as he sits at a table and fiddles with a gun, taps buttons on a box that makes sounds, opens a smaller box that sounds like metal and clicking and smells like antiseptic and does more things until the dog quickly loses interest. Yawning loudly, he thumps his tail against the floorboards and waits for the man to look over. When their eyes meet he flicks his ears forward, raises his head slightly and tilts his head to the left. The slightest twitch of a smile at the corners of the man’s lips sends his tail wagging even faster.


	2. Chapter 2

“Jackson? Scout? Lucky? Rex? Hunter? Blue? Loot?”

Staring up at the man with his head cocked to the side, the dog blinked. Whatever Master was trying to do, he didn’t quite get it. The man sat on the chair, glancing down at the dog with his arms crossed, an eye brow raised and continued to say words the dog didn’t understand. He doesn’t recognise them; they weren’t ‘Attack’ or ‘Kill’ or ‘Sick ‘em’ or ‘Bad dog!’. There was no command in his tone either, nothing that suggested anger or frustration or annoyance. Just more words that went in his good ear and out the ripped one. His go to response of staring up dumbly doesn’t seem to do anything either.

“Max?”

Wondering if he should do something, he switched his head tilt to the opposite side and started wagged his tail a little harder.

“Max. Max then?”

Happy? That sounded like happy? Happy is good! He’s happy too! He answered the question with a few soft barks, padding up to his new Master to rest his chin on the man’s knee to shamelessly ask for head scritches. He likes head scritches. Head scritches are good. The old Masters gave him the occasional pat when he did good but scritches are better.

“Okay then Mad Max. Just you and me now,” the man says. More happy in his master’s voice before he scratches at the dog’s forehead, taking care to avoid the bite wound and run fingers through short grey fur.

 

* * *

 

“Max, stop chewing your bandages.”

It didn’t take him long to start responding to his new name. He doesn’t know why this Master changed it; it’s not any of the ones the old Masters used; not _Blood_ , or _Stupid Mutt_ , or _Rip his throat out_. But he quickly learnt to react to it if he wanted a cookie. He likes cookies. Cookies are good.

Pausing in his gnawing, Max slowly looked up. Master was at the table as usual, still playing with the box that makes sounds, scratching pencil against paper, doing other things.

Max knows ‘stop’. He doesn’t get the other words but Max is a smart dog. He knows Master wants him to stop biting the tight around his paw. But… he’s _really_ bored. And the tightness itches. And Master’s been ignoring him. So he looked the man dead in the eyes, he reached down and continued nibbling at the wrappings without breaking eye contact.

“Maaax. No.”

When Master started to walk over to him, he rolled over onto his back, tail wagging and tongue lolling from an almost smiling mouth. Finally getting what he wanted, he flailed a paw listlessly in the air.

“Manipulative son of a bitch, aren’t you?” There’s a smirk in the man’s voice as he rubs the dog’s belly, hitting that right spot that made the hind leg kick.

It’s only been a night and a day but Max was already smitten to this human. This man spent a lot more time with him than the old Masters, talking and petting and feeding (when the man had left the apartment, Max had howled. Howled and howled and howled until Master came back with a big bag of dog food slung over his shoulder) instead of leaving him to his own devices chained up to a kennel or locked in a cage until the next fight. Max wondered when the next fight would be. He would fight to make this Master happy, he’d _win_ to make him happy.

A crackling noise from the sound box had the two of them looking up. Master paused in his petting to listen to the staticky string of words, absently kneading the dog’s paws. With one final pat on the chest, the man grunted and rose to his feet, searching his inventory of weapons for something (a gun probably. Max doesn’t like guns).

“Sounds like me. I’ll be right back.”


	3. Chapter 3

He only howls for an hour this time.

At some point between the shouting of some drunken stranger outside on the street and the wail of a siren passing by, Max came to the realisation that the man _would_ be coming back. He has to, right? His weapons are here, and his sound box is here. Max is here. So he settled down on his makeshift nest of blankets and shut his eyes, keeping his good ear open.

 

* * *

 

He’s not sure how much time passes before he hears it. It’s the strained creak of the rarely used door, the soft _thud, thud, thud_ of very quiet footsteps making their way upstairs. Max has very good ears (well, _ear_ ), but even so, if he weren’t being extra vigilant tonight he might not have picked up on them.

They’re not Master’s. Master’s are steady, surer. Louder. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say these were catlike (they’re not of course, cats are quieter. Max doesn’t like cats. They scratch your nose when you bite into them). They’re more cautious. The only reason someone would have to be sneaky is if they’re a _threat_.

Switching his head tilt to the opposite side, he slowly rose into a crouching position, inhaling breaths of cold air as he tried to match scent to sound. Too far away. Nothing but gunpowder and unknown chemicals flood his nose. Frustrated, the dog tensed his muscles and eased into a stalk, creeping forward as the steps finally stopped outside the apartment’s front door.

There’s a crash, splintering wood, metal hitting drywall, _stranger_ and Max lunges. He curls his lips back and flashes ivory fangs, snarling and barking and is satisfied when he see the threat take a careful step backwards. He continues to stand his ground, puff out his chest and growl like he’s supposed to, protect his Master’s territory like he’s supposed to. While Max has never actually bitten a human before, he can bluff like no tomorrow.

At least, he thought he could.

Something’s wrong. Maybe the stranger see’s through his bluff?

When he takes in his next breath he realises what’s off. The stranger smells like paper and coffee and metal and ink and blood from old wounds but it’s the lack of gunpowder that throws him off, and the lack of fear scent that derails him. The enemy (enemy?) walks forward and there’s no unsure in his gait. Max keeps up the intimidation but he can’t keep the confusion out of his barks.

_“Good boy.”_

Max is more confused. Enemies don’t praise him.

He still growls for good measure but when food is shoved in his face, instinct takes over and he wolfs it all down whole with a bite and a tail wag. He gets another “Good boy” for that, and a head pat to go with it. Max is very confused.

But Max is a smart dog so he decides to think this over logically. Enemies are angry. The stranger is not angry. Enemies smell like gunpowder. Stranger does not smell like gunpowder. Enemies don’t call him _Good boy_ and give him pets. The Stranger did. So, logically, the stranger isn’t an enemy. That makes sense. Max is not confused anymore.

So he sits down and watches the stranger (friend?) explore the apartment, keeps a watchful eye just in case but his initial wariness has grown into curiosity.

Max wasn’t wrong about the cat comparison… but cats are sharp and dumb so he’s going to compare his new friend to another dog. Yep.

Even in the same room, the man’s footsteps are all but silent. A few things catch Max’s attention. The human cocks his head to one side when he listens, inclines his head to sniff the air. Max has never seen a human do that before. This human gets it. He likes this human.

Max continues to watch and wait. The stranger continues to walk around the apartment, listens to the sound box (Max is starting to think that thing is important). Doesn’t do much else.

When it comes time for his new friend to leave, the man gives him a quick pat on the head before sprinting out the door. Max wonders when he’ll be back.


	4. Chapter 4

The next time there’s the creak of an old door, Max recognises the footsteps. Max yawns, jaws gaping open as he stretched out his forelegs, flexed his toes and shook the dust off his grey coat. He scratches an itch behind his ear (the good ear, he’s not making _that_ mistake twice > before sitting back and waiting patiently, tracking the footsteps as they make their way closer.

He follows them up the stairs, down the first corridor. They stop at what Max assumes is the beginning of the second hallway. They stay there for half a second before what started as a walk evolves into a full blown sprint. The already broken door bursts open and Max flinches, yelps in surprise and backs up for a second.

“Max?!”

Max’s mind races. What’s wrong? Is that anger in his voice? Frustration? What did he-

A heavy sigh.

“Max.”

What is that? Relief? Scared? Neither of those are bad, are they?

No, no wait Master’s not scared. Max is. Because he knows what’s off. There’s blood. Lots of it. He can barely smell the gunpowder over it like usual. It’s unknown blood and it’s stranger blood but most importantly it’s Master’s blood. Because Master is hurt. So Max whines loudly, let’s his worry be known.

The man approaches and the dog sweeps his tail across the floor, barks excitedly at the end of the chain, and when the man finally gets close enough Max gets up on his hind legs and places his front paws on his Master’s calf. There’s a quiet “Oof” before Master gives in to the dog’s pestering and gives him a good scratch, running fingers through short fur and looking the dog all over. There’s a smile in his voice as he mumbles something the dog doesn’t quite catch.

Max runs a blue nose up and down, inspects the human while the he looks the dog over. He can hear the tired in the man’s breathing, counts one, two, three- Too many wounds.

Master gives in to fatigue and sits on the floor, the perfect height for Max to plant slobbery kisses on his face (to some rather futile protests). Another grunt when Max jabs an arm with his nose and the man unclips the chain from the collar. Max promptly worms his way into his Master’s lap.

 

* * *

 

“All right, okay, good to see you too Max. Now get off.”

There’s a smile in the man’s voice again as he says that, lightly shoves the dog who rolls (in)elegantly onto the floor. Max stays belly up and watches, world upside down, listens as Master breathes out a held breath, thinks for a moment before the man gets up.

Max didn’t notice it before but there’s a limp in the human’s step. It’s not major, but add all the other cuts and bruises that the dog noticed on his initial inspection and it was enough to have the Max worrying.

For the rest of the day, Max doesn’t leave the man’s side.

Master was busy today. His first order of business was to fix the busted lock on the door that Max’s friend had so kindly kicked in. There were a lot of tools involved, tools that were on the other side of the room and Max joined Master for every one of those journeys, almost tripping the man on a number of occasions. He caught the human mumbling something about ‘training’. Max didn’t know humans could be trained.

 

* * *

 

Three shiny new locks (and a couple test kicks) later and Master was satisfied with the apartment’s security, finally getting around to sorting out his injuries, much to Max’s relief.

There’s a squeak as the med kit opens, antiseptic smell, metal sounds as Master rummages through bottles, bandages, needles, thread and other things Max doesn’t know the name of. The dog curls up at the man’s feet as he sorts himself out.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s an uneventful day. Max isn’t going to complain about that.

Max continues to stay by his Master’s side, keeping an ear out on the door and his eyes on the man. Master’s attention is divided between the sound box and the door, and frankly not enough on his awful smelling wounds. Max can’t smell an infection or anything but he decides to worry anyway, resting his muzzle on the man’s knee when he’s too restless to stay curled up on the ground.

He wrinkles his nose at the smell of disinfectant. Master’s stitching up what looks to be a rather nasty looking wound on his arm, barely flinching as he does so. Max on the other hand does. It looks painful. _Needlessly_ painful. Not that Max was a wimp or anything, he likes to think he has decent pain tolerance, especially for a fighting dog, but he couldn’t understand why humans insisted on jabbing themselves (and others!) with sharp objects. They couldn’t just lick their wounds and call it a day like every other species on the planet…

Once the medical treatment is done, Master gets back to what he usually does; more listening to that sound box, tinkering with guns, writing stuff down, other stuff that goes over the dog’s head. The man fuels himself on nothing but black coffee that Max tries to unsuccessfully swipe. Max makes a note to try again tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

It’s almost evening when Master takes a break and turns to the napping dog at his feet.

Max yawns, looks up to see Master’s fiddling with something in his hands. That wakes Max up a little more. Curious, Max tilts his head, blinks and trains his eyes on the man. Master tosses the round object up and down a few times. Then he throws it.

“Max, get it.”

_Get what?_

The object rolls a short distance and Max gets up to sniff it. It’s round, sort of a green-yellow colour and fuzzy. He pokes it once with his nose and glances back at the human. Is he meant to do something?

“Huh.”

Master gets up to retrieve it. Then tosses it again.

“Go on Max, get it!”

Max gives the man a blank stare. Master retrieves it again and gives the dog a head scratch which Max leans into.

“So no one taught you fetch?”

Confusion? Realisation? Max pokes the man again. Master keeps scratching the dog, smoothing out the fur on his forehead. Max sniffs the green thing again, wondering if it’s important too.

“We’ll figure something out.”

 

* * *

 

It’s dark when Master finally eats something. Max manages to puppy-eye half the meal of mystery canned soup (even his sharp nose can’t figure out what exactly is in that tin). Max wonders if Master should be eating a lot more if he’s recovering. But Max has gone a few days without eating before and he lived. So he dismisses the thought.

When Master goes to bed, looking over the papers he’s got pinned to the walls one last time before doing so, Max curls up in his blanket nest and doesn’t shut his eyes until the man’s breathing slows.

 

* * *

 

There’s a scream.

There’s a scream and Max jolts awake, scrambling to his paws and searching for the noise. He stumbles when he leans too much weight on his healing paw and smacks his chin against the hardwood floors in a not very dignified manner. He whines his frustration, digging claws into floorboards to try and right himself.

Once he gets over his initial dumbfounded state, he manages to get to his feet and keep himself upright. He shakes his head, concentrates, and it doesn’t take more than half a second this time to realise the scream came from Master.

Max whines, paces the room, searches for sight, sound or smell of threats but finds none. Checks again. Still no threats. The next keening noise has Max racing over to the bedside as fast as his paws will carry him.

He smells sweat. Master’s tossing and turning, mumbling words Max doesn’t recognise but he makes out the repeated “No”s.

Max whimpers. Paces. Nudges the man’s hand. He doesn’t know what to do. Nudges again. No response. Whimpers again. Whimpers louder.

Not knowing what else to do, he backs up. Crouches. Jumps up on the bed. Makes his way up to lick his Master’s face, continues to whimper.

There’s a sharp inhale when the man freezes. Max whines again.

Slow exhale. “Max, get off.”

Max pretends not to hear him. He tucks himself between the man’s arm and side, makes a show of huffing loudly and makes it known the dog has no intention of moving anytime soon. Master sighs, runs his hand down the length of the dog’s back and goes back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, the man wakes up on the edge of the bed to a snoring dog drooling on his face.


	6. Chapter 6

There’s sounds and movement around him.

Max groans, burying his snout under a pillow and trying to draw the blanket further around himself.

Master’s been up for about two or three hours now. For the first hour Max had followed the man, kept on his heels as Master started picking up and packing away all the equipment. The papers, the strings that connected the papers, the guns, the clips, the other things Max only had a vague idea of what their purpose was. This had gotten Max a little curious. Something was going on and he couldn’t gauge if it was good or bad. Neither possibly? Master wasn’t paying much attention to him so Max figured it wasn’t his fault. Whatever was going on, Max wasn’t involved.

After the fifth or so time Master nearly trips over the dog, the man picks him up, plonks him on the bed and tells him to “stay”. He’s never heard that command before. Max doesn’t get it the first time. Or the second. Of the third. But he gets it on the fifth go when Master combines the command with a hand signal, a hand held up and palm towards him. He gets it so fast because Max is a very smart dog and he’s very deserving of the nice piece of beef jerky throws towards him.

Yawning wide, Max stretches out his legs, laying on his side this time as Master began taking some of the boxes downstairs. He tracks the sounds, pawing idly at the pillow the dog was loosely hugging. He’ll figure out what’s happening later.

 

* * *

 

The sound box is the last thing to be packed away. Master listens to it for a few more minutes before it too is packed up. The absence of noise is enough to stir the sleeping dog and Max is only half awake when the man calls him over. Max shakes himself awake, leaps off the bed, nails clicking against floorboards as he pads over, glancing lazily around the now empty room.

“Come on Max, let’s go.”

_Come? Go? Go where?_

He pricks his ears, making a high pitched curious noise that’s not quite a whine, not quite a whimper. Master pets him once on the shoulder and the two of them heads down stairs.

 

* * *

 

When Max gets downstairs there’s a car.

_There. Is. A. Car._

There are other things happening downstairs too but Max doesn’t care because _there. Is. A. Car._ A beautiful, metal, currently stationary but soon to be moving at breakneck speeds, vehicle of happiness.

Now there are many things in this world that Max loves. Food. Scritches. Belly rubs. Not losing a fight. His new Master. Food. Head pats. Other things. And near the top of that list? Car rides. Max _loves_ car rides. Because car rides are like chasing things except you don’t get tired from running. And cars move so much faster than your own legs and the wind’s such a rush especially if the human lets you stick your head out the window instead of just leaving you locked up in a boring crate and there’s so many different sights and sounds and _smells_ , so many-

There’s the click of a car door opening. The door swings open. Max is scrabbling up the passenger seat before Master even has a chance to call his name.

Barking his excitement out loud, he kneads the seat fabric with his paws, glancing at the driver’s side with the biggest, happiest, doggiest grin he can muster.

Yep. New Master is his new favourite human. Best human. And for that reason, Max does the polite thing and decides not to swipe half the man’s coffee from the cup holder when he’s not looking. This time. He still wants to know what coffee tastes like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit, I don't actually know if Frank moved safe houses between episode 3 and 4 but I'm going to assume he did because that's the smart thing to do.
> 
> If anything sounds odd this chapter, I'm blaming my cold.


	7. Chapter 7

Max barks excitedly, presses multiple wet nose prints into the glass of the car door window and paws at the lock. When Master starts up the car, Max nuzzles his hand, glances over at the window eagerly. Nuzzles again. He points his snout down, ears back, looks up at the man with the biggest set of puppy eyes he can physically handle.

The man smirks, rubs the dog’s snout. There’s an electrical whirring sound.

_YES! Yes yes yes yes yes yes-_

“Max, don’t jump out.”

Max hears the words but he’s too busy _having an absolute blast_ because _the window is down_ and he can smell EVERYTHING.

This is the best day ever.

The dog shoves his big boofy head outside, opens his jaws and lets his ears flap around wildly, tongue lolling from the side of his mouth. He barks at random passers-by to announce _how awesome is this?!_ Master gives the dog an affectionate pat on the shoulders as he rounds the corner.

 

* * *

 

There’s no dogs in the new apartment.

Max checks, twice, but like the old one he doesn’t find hair nor scent of one.

It’s just a big empty room, almost identical to the old one but with a slightly different layout and less stairs. Less but more dangerous stairs. The second step from the top is half an inch higher than all the other steps. Meaning both dog and man almost tripped on the way up. As if stairs weren’t hard enough to climb for his short legged self…

 

* * *

 

There’s a thump as Master sets down the last of the boxes.

Max yawns. It took all morning to pack up all that stuff so naturally it’ll take all afternoon to unpack all of it, a lot of time he’ll be spending napping on this squeakier, mustier smelling bed. At least, that’s what he thought he’d be doing.

Instead, Master takes a long look around the room, at the boxes and windows before his eyes drift over to the dog, laying down with his paws over the side of the bed. When their eyes meet, Max raises his head, wags his tail curiously. And then Master smiles.

“Come on Max, let’s go for a walk.”

There’s a loud squeak as Max leaps off.

 

* * *

 

Max isn’t sure where Master’s taking him. Usually when he’s put on a leash it means they’re headed for the next fight. But fights don’t happen during the day. Or outside. On the street. With no other dogs.

He doesn’t dwell on the thought for long because he’s distracted by a half-eaten pizza. Then a funny smell in the grass. A car backfires somewhere. A bell rings, a high-pitched electrical noise, there’s some birds in that tree, and some children playing in the park and an ice cream salesman that he can make it to in five seconds if he starts running _right now_.

He’s dragging Master all over the place and he almost feels bad for the man but then there’s a squirrel on the other side of the street so of course he has to try and go after it. It’s only when Max gets way too enthusiastic in his leash pulling and the dog starts gagging on his own collar that the man reigns the dog back in like a wild fish, sits down on a bench and waits for the overstimulated dog to stop madly racing around.

Calm down time takes a solid twelve minutes.

Max is bouncing around, tangling the leash around Master’s boots and whining loudly whenever someone walks past because _why aren’t we going over to say hi?_

He does calm down eventually. Apparently Master has a lot more patience than him because he simply keeps a tight hold of the leash and waits until the dog stops barking at everything that breathes, and lies down, head between his paws and breathing out a long huff. He gets a light head pat and a treat for that.

A few more treats and pats and Max starts to get the hint. They’re not going to go anywhere unless he’s calm. This idea confuses Max, the old Masters liked it when he fought against the leash and put on a great show.

But he doesn’t care about the old Masters right now.

When they leave the bench, Max doesn’t bolt as soon as the man gets up. He still sniffs at everything he can but the leash stays slack. Max has to admit, the lack of tension is nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness of this update. Next one's going to be a bit delayed too, I've got tests next week. Stay tuned.


	8. Chapter 8

As it turns out, not pulling on the leash is great. Mainly because he gets treats when he does it right. Lots of them, and even a nice shoulder pat to go with it. The thing is though, he gets even more treats when he ‘fixes’ a mistake. So Max starts pretending to correct himself, purposefully walking ahead of the man at first before ‘realising’ what he’s done and trotting back over to the man’s side.

Max isn’t one to judge but it takes Master an embarrassingly long time to figure out the dog’s plan.

 

* * *

 

There’s a building that smells like other dogs.

Max is practically foaming at the mouth in anticipation, sniffing around in front of the store and tracking the many different canine scents. He’s been waiting for this. It was only a matter of time. And Max is prepared to put up one hell of a fight. He won’t lose this time, _he won’t_. So even as Master begins reigning in the leash, he’s searching around, wanting to see his opponent first before they see him.

A bell chimes as the door opens. Scents flood his nose and Max keeps searching. He takes in a deep breath, pauses as he tries to analyse them.

He’s almost overwhelmed. Yes, there’s canine. But there’s also _cat, mouse, bird, fish, hamster, snake-_

Too many.

Shaking his head, Max sneezed, sticking his nose to the ground as he concentrates on _dog_.

If it were physically possible, Max would be frowning right about now. The canine scents are old, passing. They probably didn’t stick around for more than an hour, most of them are over two days old. And the only canines that are here right now other than himself are…

When Master drops the leash, Max makes a beeline for the crate next to the counter. If it were possible, his frown would have grown wider.

Max doesn’t fight puppies.

Well, he could. But he won’t. Puppies get a ‘puppy pass’. Some dogs will kill young that aren’t their own but that’s generally frowned upon (figuratively speaking). And Max doesn’t like being frowned upon.

He’s still sniffing at the pile of fluff balls when one of the sleeping poodles wakes up. He blinks as a tiny muzzle reaches between the wires of the crate to lick his nose. Max huffs.

_Pfft. Kids._

 

* * *

 

It’s three minutes after entering the store that a young woman rushes from the back room.

Max wasn’t really paying attention, busy poking at the puppy that was trying to bite his nose when he realised someone was talking to him in a high pitched voice. Max has to pay attention because _Max is a sucker for a happy high pitched voices_.

An absolute sucker.

So when she says “Hi there Max!” the dog’s a wiggly ball of happy noises and tail wags and of course Max is going to milk the excited puppy routine when she’s giving him head pats and treats.

“Aww, aren’t you a sweetie?”

Yes. Yes he absolutely will be one of those means if it means he can get more treats. Whatever a ‘sweetie’ is. It can’t be a bad thing. You don’t say bad things in a happy voice. Max rolls over onto his back when she crouches down for belly rubs.

 

* * *

 

When the humans start talking, Max takes that as his cue to explore the rest of the room. He still keeps an ear on them though. This is the first time he’s seen Master interact with another human.

There’s a cage full of brightly coloured birds. They’re on a cupboard, too high up for Max to reach without getting up on his hind legs. Max does just that, and the chirping grows louder when he paws experimentally at the cage’s lock.

_”…Hannah! … What can I do for you?...”_

The rats are more interesting. They’re behind a glass casing, some scrabbling back at the sight of him, some curiously peering at him and the majority ignoring his big face pressing up against the tank. This tank also looks difficult to get into so he loses interest when he realises he won’t be able to chase any of them.

_”… out of dog food. What can you tell me… training books too?...”_

Snakes. Snakes are boring. At first Max thinks the enclosure is empty but he spots the reptile curled up in a ball not doing anything. Snakes look like they’d make very boring prey.

Max glances over his shoulder at the two humans. The woman (Hannah?) is leaning over the counter. Obviously interested. Master’s got a smirk in his voice. Hah. Sly old dog.

_”… Name’s Frank by the way…”_

Max is prodding at the lock on the lizard enclosure when he hears it.

Name. Frank. Master’s name is Frank. That’s nice to know. Humans don’t tend to introduce themselves to dogs. Max has gone his whole life without knowing the names of some of his old Masters. Which he’s okay with, if a little confusing (it’s hard to keep track of them and he’s mistaken one human for another on a few occasions… It’s not his fault, a lot of humans look alike). Favourite Master is Master Frank. Frank Master. Frank. Just Frank.

_”… You’ve got your high end stuff over here… Taste of the Wild, your Canidae… pricey… between you and me… anything purina is utter…”_

Fish tanks line the walls from floor to ceiling. A few of them are low enough to the ground that he barely has to look up to peer inside. He spends a decent amount of time staring at each one, mesmerised by the many little moving flashes of silver and colour. Max waits until the humans aren’t paying attention to lap up a big gulp of aquarium water.

_”…lotta information…”  
“… always welcome to…”_

There are some… things hanging on metal racks. Furry things. They’re not alive but they don’t smell dead either.

Curiosity wins over and he noses one.

Nothing happens.

Noses it again.

Nothing.

The fluffiness of the thing makes him want to pick it up so he does just that.

A loud _QUAAACK_ has Max immediately dropping the cursed furry thing, springing backwards and contemplating running to safety behind human legs. He doesn’t, but he does flatten the furry thing with a paw. What the hell was that? Is it alive? It doesn’t smell alive? It’s not warm either, but it makes _sounds_.

There’s another _QUACK_. And another when he squishes it again.

“Max?”

Max picks up the furry thing and shakes until its fluffy white insides rain around him.

“… I’ll pay for that.”

 

* * *

 

Max ends up carrying a rubbery circular squishy thing with him around the store (it smells like the things cars roll on but miniature! And squishy! And fun to bite!). Master, _Frank_ , lets him keep it. Along with a bunch of other miscellaneous items; there are _three_ of those furry things on the counter and Max is looking forward to an afternoon of killing _all_ of them. He ends up greeting the litter of puppies again when the humans start talking, and while he’s there Hannah hands him another treat.

There’s the crinkle of plastic as Frank turns something over in his hands.

“Those are Bully Sticks. They’re very popular with dogs that like to chew.”

“What’s it made of?”

“It’s a dehydrated bull’s ah… actually on second thought, we have deer antlers too. They last a lot longer. Rawhides and Pig ears should last him a good thirty minutes though.”

“I’ll take one of each of those.”

“Great! Your total comes out to…”

 

* * *

 

Max is still holding onto the round thing when they leave the store. Frank has a big bag of dog food slung easily over his shoulder and several plastic bags full of treats, books and things Max is probably also going to eat. He’s looking forward to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frank's pet store haul;  
> Dog Food: http://s7d1.scene7.com/is/image/PETCO/2190012-right-1  
> 'Furry thing' x 3: https://www.petstock.com.au/attachments/Product/17646/122814000295.tag.0.jpg?ts=1414367665  
> 'Round thing': http://www.petmountain.com/photos/product/giant/114420S523837/-/mini-3-5-diameter-.jpg  
> Dog Training books:  
> http://smartdawgs.server273.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/old-tricks.jpg  
> http://www.amazon.com/Aggression-Dogs-Management-Prevention-Modification/dp/1929242204  
> Treats;  
> http://antlerchews.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/jasperadey11.jpg  
> http://d1rgby1m7uuvjr.cloudfront.net/is/catalog/60023_MAIN._AC_SL1500_V1453142552_.jpg  
> http://www.drsfostersmith.com/images/categoryimages/highdef/9N-5406-FS16762-dog.jpg  
> http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51WPWlMsAHL._AC_UL320_SR254,320_.jpg
> 
> Where does Frank get all the money for this stuff? Well he's certainly not spending it on himself other than weapons and ammunition so I suspect Max is going to well pampered.  
> Treat your dogs well people :)
> 
> And the poodle puppies because puppies are adorable: https://s3.amazonaws.com/s3.pupcity.com/_old/09219150058031_1.jpg


	9. Chapter 9

Over the next few days, Master takes Max on several ‘walks’, as he’s come to know them as.

Frank takes him on two walks a day, once in the early morning when the sun is barely up and once in the afternoon right before Master goes off to do whatever it is humans do at night (it involves guns. A lot of guns. Max is starting to think Frank has a hoarding problem). With it, comes a bunch of new commands to learn.

‘Heel’ he learns quickly. He just has to glue himself to Frank’s flank (left side unless indicated otherwise) and sit when he stops walking. The word command’s paired with a simple hand movement- the man patting the side of his calf, at which point Max happily trots up and slams his hip against the man’s leg with more far enthusiasm then is necessary.

‘Sit’ is stupidly easy. Butt on floor. That’s pretty much it. It’s paired with the word or a hand raised with palm facing away from Max. From there he learns ‘down’, another easy one, with palm facing down and arm horizontal to the ground. All he has to do is make sure his belly’s touching the ground and reminds himself that includes his hindquarters.

‘Stand’ is the reverse of ‘down’, with arm moving up and palm upwards. Max just needs to get up from whatever position he was in before. He picks these commands up fairly quickly and this time it’s Frank who’s being unnecessarily enthusiastic. Hearing the normally stoic man attempt exaggerated excitement is odd but Max is a sucker for enthusiasm so he drinks in all the praise.

Now ‘stay’… ‘Stay’ is a hard one. It seemed simple enough; it’s matched with a palm held up, facing him and just means don’t move from whatever spot or position you’re in. Of course, that’d be a lot easier if Frank would stop _throwing toys and treats past his face to distract him_. It’s a mean thing for Frank to do. But Max is a smart dog and doesn’t fall for his tricks. He turns his nose up as the squeaky fluffy thing flies past his snout (well, what’s left of it after one fated afternoon of boredom) and doesn’t so much as glance at his favourite ~~victim~~ toy whizzing by.

Of course, once he mastered ‘Stay’, Frank had to go and try teach him ‘Leave it’. ‘Leave it’ doesn’t have a hand signal. ‘Leave it’ sucks. It’s a stupid command. While ‘Stay’ means he just ignores things around him, ‘Leave it’ means that if he’s already going after something he needs to _stop_ going after it, despite already having it on his mind. And that’s stupid because if something falls on the floor it’s his anyway. Why delay the inevitable? Plus he’s all riled up and engaged and honestly Max doesn’t see how ‘Leave it’ is important. Still, when Frank drops a treat on the ground and tells him not to eat it, Max begrudgingly obeys because he’s a good dog. Being a good dog sucks.

Frank’s favourite command is ‘Speak’. Max isn’t sure why Frank finds it so entertaining but it is kind of fun for Max to do. He gets to bark. He gets to bark _loud_. Repeatedly. At first the command was paired with an opening and closing hand but it got more complicated later on. Instead of ‘Speak’, Frank started asking questions that the dog didn’t understand. But that didn’t matter because Max just listened for the man’s tone.

“Max, what’s one plus two?”

Max barked, three times, right after the third bark Frank would break eye contact and Max would go silent. It’s a very subtle movement so Max has to concentrate, just the slightest darting of the eyes, but he never misses his cue and Master always looks so amused afterwards.

Personally, Max likes ‘Shake’. Hand comes out, Max slaps his paw in the open palm. Max opens his mouth. Max gets a treat. Simples.

 

* * *

 

Obeying the commands on walks is a lot harder with all the distractions but Max manages. He sits, he heels, he shakes with some people, speaks for others. Max finds children in particular really like shake, which is great because Max loves shake and Max loves children.

Tiny humans are great. They can be loud and grabby but they can also smell like cookies and dirt. They’re generous in their hug and pat giving, are equally as generous when it comes to food sharing. And they always sound so happy. One of the Old Masters had a little girl. “Honey” Max reminds himself. Honey was a sweet child, scared of some of the other fighters but she snuck Max bites of ice cream and lollipops and Max always looked forward to guarding her when the other Masters were away. Children are great.

Naturally, when out on a walk and they stumble across children, Max is happy enough to give the cooing mini humans a friendly tail wag and a paw shake. Although he notices Frank acts strangely around them. He isn’t sure what it is; Max senses a slight shift in his Master’s behaviour but he can’t pinpoint what exactly is different. Uneasiness. Hesitation. Fear? No, not quite. Whatever it is, Max takes the hint and stops dragging the man over to gaggles of happy children, no matter how much he wants to.

 

* * *

 

It happens on one of their walks.

Max and Frank are on one their usual afternoon route, the one before Master stalks off into the night to do mystery activities. Max is in a near perfect heel, keeping in time with the man’s steps and trying not to accidentally trip him (it’s happened a couple of times. Max insists on making sure a part of him is always touching the man’s leg but that means he does occasionally get in the way. But it’s for Frank’s good, he swears). Streetlights are beginning to flicker to life. Fewer and fewer people walk the footpaths. Max notices their decent paced jog has become more of a relaxed stroll and he adjusts his own gait to match.

He’s concentrating so hard on keeping in pace that the sudden jerk of the leash throws him off and makes him yelp in surprise. The man’s shortening his leash, winding it around his hand and tightening his grip on the leather.

Frank’s not one for sudden leash corrections, there’s always a warning first. So when Max is abruptly pulled behind his Master’s legs he’s even more confused, fumbling around as he tries to figure out what’s happening.

There’s a bark.

A flash of yellow fur.

The scent of dog hits his nose and a switch flicks in his mind. He whips into attention, ears forward, head high, muscles tense. Collar strains against his chest and he tries to manoeuvre around the legs obscuring his view. He vaguely hears the shout of a command but he ignores it.

Because there’s a loose dog running towards them.

Max whines in anticipation, barking, whining, and fighting against the leash. His opponent’s a Golden Retriever. Taller and heavier than him but _soft_. Dopey. Weak bite. Where Max ripples with muscle the other male rolls with fat. Soft. Weak.

The Retriever’s acting friendly. Tail wagging, play bowing, trying to get in close for a sniff and batting with large paws. Friendly. Max puffs up his chest and stiffens his legs in a dominant display.

Max isn’t a fool. He knows this is a lie. Dogs aren’t friendly to each other. The only dogs that are friendly to each other are mates or mother and child. And even those have exceptions. Some males could care less about females, some females will kill overly insistent males. Once puppies come of age they regularly best their parents in the ring. Siblings develop a strong hatred for each other once they reach maturity. He’d lost to a littermate once, beaten another. A dog’s friendliness is only for humans. So when the Golden tries to get close to his face - _too close_ \- he bears his teeth and aims for the throat.

His teeth click at empty air as he’s hoisted upwards.

Max squirms against Master’s grip, digging claws into the man’s forearms to try and wriggle free. The Retriever jumps up to try and sniff him.

“Put your dog on a leash!”

Master’s shouting. Angry. That riles Max up even more.

“It’s alright, he’s friendly!”

There’s a wet nose just to his left. Max snaps at it but something fleshy intersects him, _not dog_. He lets go immediately because you don’t bite humans. He squirms to get free again. Why is Frank holding him back?

“And _mine_ isn’t!”

“Just put him down, let them say hi!”

The leash winds around his muzzle. Max shakes his head to try and free himself. It’s a futile attempt so he turns his snarl audible. The other dog recoils for a half second, unsure.

“Marley! Marley come!”

Irritation in the stranger’s voice. The Golden Retriever ignores his Master’s calls. It’s not until Frank pretends to rush the dog that it goes scampering back to his human’s side with his tail between his legs.

There’s a lot of shouting between the humans. Mostly from the other dog’s human, but Max ignores it, trying to free himself from Frank’s grip. Why doesn’t Frank put him down? Max can take this dog. Max can take this dog _easily_. It’ll be over in seconds. Does Frank not trust him? Does he think Max will lose? Max won’t lose. He just needs a chance to prove himself, just ten seconds.

The shouting gets louder. Loud enough that for half a second, Max’s instinct to attack the other dog is overridden by his need to protect his Master. He directs his next snarl at the other human.

Silence.

The other man stumbles before dragging the Golden (or rather, the dog drags _him_ ) away, grumbling loudly about a ‘crazy mutt’ and ‘fucking pit bull owners’. Max recognises the hand gesture the man gives Frank as one that usually gets humans angry. His Master remains calm so Max is angry for his sake, snarling louder and watching the other dog and man quicken their pace.

 

* * *

 

Frank doesn’t set Max down until the other dog is well out of sight and earshot.

When he does, Max rushes in the direction the other dog had gone but is yanked back by a taut leash. He paces, whines.

He remains amped up for the rest of the walk, to the point the walk has to be cut short.

 

* * *

 

When he’s let back into the apartment, Max paces the room.

He stops in front of the door, whining, scratching and pawing at the door frame, wondering if maybe that was just a first meeting. The real fight will happen here? He needs to be ready.

So he keeps pacing, listening, waiting. He listens for the click of claws, the huff of a panting breath. A bark of anticipation.

Instead he hears the familiar creak of metal. Med kit? Max didn’t get to fight, why’s-

Blood.

He sniffs again.

Frank’s bleeding. When did that…?

He slowly pads over to the table, whining softly and head lowered. When he reaches the table, he sits, head tilted to the side.

There are small puncture marks on Frank’s arm. It’s not a deep or serious wound, barely bleeding anymore but Max is nonetheless angry. He could’ve sworn he was watching his opponent the entire time. When did this happen? When had he failed to protect his Master? Why hadn’t he noticed? Dogs that bite humans are the worst.

Max rests his muzzle on Frank’s lap. He tries to reach over and lick the wound but Frank stops him by scratching at his ears, running fingers along the length of his snout.

“You’re all right Max.”

He failed to win.

“You’re all right. We’ll keep working.”

He failed to protect his Master. Max huffs, whining again.

“Max, do you want a treat?”

He ignores the offered jerky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, small PSA; unless you're in an off leash area put your dogs on lead people! Especially if they don't have a _rock solid_ recall or you've got an obnoxiously friendly pup (I'm looking at you retrievers). Even if your dog's friendly, you don't know what issues a strange dog may have. Dog aggression, shyness, fear of other dogs/strangers or maybe a service dog in training that does _not_ need distractions. For the safety of everyone involved just keep that in mind.  
>  So yeah. This has been your random daily helpful hint. Non dog owners just carry on with your day.  
> ~The more you know~
> 
> Sorry for the wait on this but I managed to make this chapter longer. Also, angst. Coming up next; The Irish are coming.
> 
> In other news, I saw Captain America: Civil War. It was amazing. Go watch it when it comes out wherever you are.  
> Do it.


	10. Chapter 10

Max paws idly at the metal chain.

He doesn’t mind the chain. Sure, he’d much rather be curled up on the (slightly) comfier bed but Frank’s reasons for chaining Max up whilst he’s out are, admittedly, fairly reasonable. Especially after taking into consideration the incident with the pillow (Fluff.  _EVERYWHERE_ ). Besides, Max doesn’t think he deserves the bed right now.

Max fretted over the man for the remainder of his stay in the apartment that night, whining at the horrible smell of antiseptic (Frank wouldn’t put that stuff on his wounds if he had Max’s nose!) as the man tended to the puncture wounds. He was still replaying what happened in his mind, wondering when the retriever got its jaws on Frank and he why hadn’t noticed. He’s still fuming. He should’ve been watching. He won’t let that happen again, no, he won’t ever let Frank get hurt by again. He was just glad it was a Retriever. Goldens have fairly weak bites so the wound could’ve been much worse. If it were a shepherd or another bully breed, then the wound might be even worse. Max growls at the thought, licking at his paw to distract himself.

Frank left some time after they got back to the apartment. Same time he always does, right on the dot, always giving Max a head scratch and a treat before he leaves. The deer antler lays un-chewed by his paws.

He’s picking at his food bowl when he catches the sound of movement from outside the apartment. There’s some type of commotion outside. Max pricks his ears, listening curiously.

He’s excited at first, rising to his paws and stretching out the post sleep backache. But he can hear pigeons cooing. It’s too early for Frank to get back, still a bit more before breakfast and even more until they go on their morning walk. And on closer inspection, it sounds like more than one person. Is his Master among them? Max isn’t sure. As far as he knows, Frank doesn’t have any friends. At least none that he’s met whilst Max was around. Frank needs more friends. Maybe next time if coffee and ink comes back he can be friends with Frank too.

Max takes a tentative step forward, listening as voices crowd at the base of the apartment. Banging against wood as the bottom door’s flung open, feet on stairs. There’s too many footsteps to count, he just knows there’s a lot of them.

Max growls, licking at his lips as he stalks slowly forward, waits. They’re rushing up pretty fast. And there’s a lot of them. They’ll be here soon and he’s not sure what to do if- when they get inside. Bark? Snarl? Fight? Frank will be here soon. Should he just wait for Frank? Push them into a corner until the man gets here? Yeah that works. He can do that. He just has to-

The door bursts open.

Max snarls, barks, lunges and snaps. Aims to fake a bite at someone’s leg and-

_”Dog’s one of ours.”_

Wait.

He knows that voice.

Oh yeah, that’s Dan. He knows Dan. Dan is… well, Max doesn’t _hate_  him. Max doesn’t like him either but he gave Max a sandwich that one time. Max never forgets someone that gives him food. Especially a sandwich. A bacon sandwich.

There’s a lot of shouting and shuffling. A lot of people cramped into the tiny apartment. The air’s thick with something (other than gunpowder) and Max soaks up all the tension like an emotional sponge, barking and whimpering aloud his anxiety. There’s an angry shout in response and he whines a little quieter, sensing the threat behind those words.

They don’t seem very happy. There’s still a lot of shouting, rummaging through Frank’s things, messing with stuff. Max doesn’t think they should be touching anything but he isn’t sure. They did a number on the door. Frank’s probably going to have to fix that one too. Max wonders why some humans can open doors and others can’t. Maybe that’s the ‘training’ Frank was referring to…

Well it should be fine, the Masters are always right so he just watches them.

Unsure of what to do, he grabs the tyre tug and brings it over to Dan. Dan ignores him. Max huffs.

 

* * *

 

It’s not long until they start leaving.

Max settles down on the blanket nest and continue chewing on the tyre until someone unclips the chain from his collar.  He looks up confused. Oh. Are they going on a walk? But Frank should be back soon, aren’t they going to wait for him?

Dan picks him up.

Oh. Oh no not Dan. Dan doesn’t know how to hold dogs. Max squirms in Dan’s uncomfortable grasp (not so accidentally jabbing the man in the face with a wayward foot) as he tries to wrestle the dog for the tyre tug. Max only let’s go of the tug when he starts feeling sorry for the man’s inability to win at tug-o-war. 

He’s still wondering where Frank is on the bumpy ride down the stairs- Dan stumbles on that step that’s half an inch higher than all the others and nearly drops the flailing dog (damn it Dan get it together). Max keeps squirming because Frank will be back _any minute_ now, they can’t leave yet.

There are multiple cars outside. Max is excited about the prospect of a car ride but he looks around for Frank because his Master usually gets back right about now. Like, right now. If they’d just wait five minutes…

Scent of leather as the door swings open. Max is unceremoniously shoved inside and he scrambles to the nearest window.

The windows are black. He can’t see out of them. Well that’s dumb. What’s the point of windows if you can’t see out of them?

Max hoists himself onto someone’s lap (that someone protests but he ignores them) and presses his nose against the black glass. He can vaguely see outside but he still can’t see Frank. What was that thing he did one time to make the window go down? He stepped on that bar thingie? Max paws at the arm rest until he hears the electrical whirring of the window.

“ _Get down!”_

His collar tightens and he’s yanked down into the space between the front and the back seats. Max whines, frustrated. He paces between the space working himself up with louder whines. Car rides aren’t any fun if he can’t look outside.

The car roars to life and he whimpers a little louder, not liking this one bit. Are they really leaving right now? Well, maybe they’ll meet Frank somewhere else. Yeah that’s it, that makes sense. They’re taking Max _to_ Frank.

The erratic movements of the car start throwing off his balance and they’re still not letting him look outside. The car ride is far from smooth, speeding up and slowing down so much that he starts to feel nauseous. Max throws up on Dan’s lap.


End file.
